In the Shower With Emmett
by ZivaKateAbby4Eva
Summary: Okay, this is my first one-shot. Emmett is the main character, obviously. Alice is his sister. This is purely human. I rated it T just in case...


_Okay, another Twilight story! This is written in Emmett's POV. Alice is his sister in this. This is my first one-shot, so I hope you all enjoy it! _

In The Shower With Emmett

I'm in the shower. Singing. And not just because the echo makes my voice sound so cool either. I'm singing because I'm so happy.

Ever since I've been old enough to take showers I've been trying to find a way to fill a shower cubicle up with water. If I put a washcloth over the drain, I can get the water up as far as my ankles, but it always ends up leaking through the door.

But I think I've finally found the answer-Dad's caulking gun.

I've plugged up the drain.

I've sealed up the shower-screen doors.

I've even filled in all the cracks in the tiles.

The cubicle is completely watertight, and the water is already up to my knees.

And the best part is that I've got all night to enjoy it.

Mom and Dad have got Mr. and Mrs. Hale over for dinner. They'll be too busy listening to Mr. Bainbridge talk about himself to have time to worry about what I'm doing.

I hear banging on the door.

"Have you almost finished Emmett?"

It's Alice!

"No," I say. "I think I'm going to be in here a while yet."

"Can you hurry up?" yells Alice.

"But you already had your shower this morning." I yell.

"I'm going out," she says, "I need the bathroom."

"Ok, I'll be out in a minute." I call. I always say that. It's the truth. Sort of. I will be out in a minute. I'm just not saying what minute it will be.

The cubicle is filling with thick white steam. Just the way I like it. Dad's always telling us how important it is to turn the fan on when we're having a shower, but I can't see the point. A shower without steam just doesn't make sense. You might as well go stand outside in the rain.

My rubber duck bumps against my legs. I pick it up.

"This is it," I say. "Just you and me…where no boy-or rubber duck-has gone before."

It has its bill raised in a sort of smile. It must be as excited as I am. Let's face it, there can't be that much excitement in a life of a rubber duck. Except that you get to see everybody without their clothes on.

Alice bangs on the door again.

"Emmett! Pleeeeeeeeease!"

"Ok," I call, "I'll be out in a minute."

"You said that a minute ago!"

"I'm washing my hair."

"But you've been in there for at least a half an hour. You don't have THAT much hair!"

"I'm using a new sort of shampoo-I have to do it strand by strand."

"Emmett!"

The water is almost up to my belly button. There's only one thing missing. Bubbles!

I pick up the bubble bath and measure out a capful. I tip it into the water. A few bubbles, but not enough. I add another cap. And another. And another. One more for good measure. Another for good luck.

I keep adding bubble bath until the bottle is empty. The bubbles rise over my head. Cool. It's like being eaten by this enormous white fungus. Well, not that being eaten by an enormous white fungus would be cool-it would be quite uncool, actually-but you know what I mean.

Alice is yelling.

"Emmett, if you don't get out right this minute, you're going to be sorry!"

Alice is persistant, I'll give her that. But I'll fix her. I'll use my old, 'what did you say?' routine.

"Pardon?" I yell. "what did you say?"

"I said you're going to be sorry!"

"What? I can't hear you!"

"I said get out of the shower!"

"Pardon?"

No reply. I win.

Aaaagghhh!

The water's gone hot. Boiling hot.

Alice must have flushed the toilet.

That's bad news.

I lose.

I jump back against the wall.

Hot water splatters onto my face. My chest. My arms.

I grab the cold tap and turn it on full.

The hot water disappears. Not it's freezing.

I'm going to have to turn both taps off and start all over again.

Being a pioneer is not easy.

I turn the hot tap off. But the cold won't budge.

I grab the tap and twist it clockwise, but it's stuck. Not even my super strength can move it.

The caulking gun is hanging off the shower pipe. I pick it up and start bashing the tap with it. That should loosen it.

The handgrip shatters.

The pieces disappear into the soapy water. And the water is still flowing at full blast.

I kneel down and clamp my teeth over the tap rod.

No good. The tap feels like it's rusted into place. My teeth will crack before it moves.

There's no steam left. The bubbles have been flattened. The freezing water is almost up to my chest. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Time to bail out.

I take a deep breath, dive to the bottom of the shower. I'm tying to find the drain. I've got to get the caulk out of the drain before the shower fills up completely.

But I can't do it. I did the job too well. There's nothing but a hard, rubbery slab of caulk where the plug used to be. I can't poke through it. It's times like this I wish I didn't bite my fingernails. But then it's times like this that cause me to bite my nails in the first place.

I stand up, gasping for air. The water is up to my neck. I grab the door handle and try to open the door, but I laid the caulk on even thicker for the doors than the drain. If you ever want anything sealed tight, I'd recommend my dad's caulking gun. This stuff stays stuck forever.

I'm going to have to break the door down.

I'll use the gun. It made short work of the tap so the door shouldn't be a problem.

I bash the glass with the gun handle. It bounces off. I bash it again, harder this time. The gun snaps in two. Just my luck. Reienforced shower glass. Unbreakable.

I'm shivering. And it's not just from the cold. I'd never admit this, but I'm also scared.

I start bashing the door with the duck.

"HELP! I'M DROWNING! HELP!"

"I'm not surpised!" Alice yells back. "You've been in there long enough!"

"Alice, I'm not kidding! Help me!"

"What did you say?" she says, "I can't hear you!"

"Be serious!" I yell. "I've caulked myself in here."

"What?"

She wins again.

I'm treading water. My head is very close to the top of the shower.

The only way I can save myself is to get rid of the water.

I'm going to have to drink it.

Dirty, soapy, shower water.

I'd rather die.

The water nudges the tip of my nose.

Actually, on second thought, I'd rather drink the water.

I start swallowing.

It's working. I just have to drink it as fast as the shower is filling up. And if I can drink even faster, then I might get out of herer alive yet. Actually the water doesn't taste that bad, it's only been three days since my last shower.

I keep swallowing.

And swallowing. And swallowing. And swallowing.

Uh-oh.

I can't believe this.

I have to go to the toilet.

But I can't.

I'll drink dirty shower water, but I won't drink that.

I've got to hold on.

But I can't do that, either.

I'm busting.

########################################################

My head is bumping against the roof of the shower.

It's getting harder to breathe.

There's more banging on the door, but it sounds like it's coming from a long way away.

"I'm going to tell Dad!" says Alice in a distant voice. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes, Alice!" I call. "Please, hurry."

Everything becomes quiet.

I see my life flash before my eyes.

I see myself hiding some of Alice's makeup. I see myself blowing a high-pitched whistle while Mom's on the phone. I see myself pestering Alice while she was working on her song for the school's talent show. I see myself letting down the tires on Dad's car. I see myself hiding a rubber snake in Alice's bed. Is that all I did with my life? Annoy people? Surely I did something useful…something good?

Nope. I can't think of anything. Except for solving the problem of how to fill a shower cubicle with water.

I may be going to die, but at least it will be a hero's death. Future generations of Australian children will thank me as they float around in their sealed-up shower cubicles.

Ouch!

Something is pressing into the top of my head.

I look up.

The fan! I forgot all about it!

It's not very big, but it's better than nothing. If I can get the grille off, then I can escape through the hole and up into the roof.

I work my fingers under the edge of the grille and pull on it. It comes off easily.

I reach into the casing and grab hold of the fan. I rock it back and forth. There's a little bit of give in it, and I start giving it all I've got.

Finally the bolts holding it give way. I push my arms and head into the hole, kicking like mad to get the thrust I need to make it all the way up.

The opening is smaller than I thought. I expel every last bit of air in my lungs to make myself thin enough to fit through the hole. Not that there was much air left in them, but it seems to help.

At last! I'm through!

I'm lying on a yellow insulation batt in the roof of our house. The glass fibers are prickly on my skin, but I'm not complaining. It's a lot better than where I was. I look back into the hole. It's like one of those fishing holes the Eskimos cut in the ice. But there's no fish. Just my rubber duck. I reach down and pick it out. We're in this together. I can't just leave it.

After I get my breath back I look around.

I know there's a manhole in the kitchen. All I have to do is locate it, climb down into the kitchen, then nick down the hall to my room. Then I can put on my pajamas and go to bed early. It will save a lot of boring explination-and, if I'm really lucky, Alice will get the blame.

I start feeling my way down towards the kitchen with help from the roofbeam.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my thumb. I jerk my hand away and almost lose my balance. I fling the duck away so I can grab the beam with my other hand.

I look at my thumb. A huge splinter is sticking out of it. I pull it out and shake my hand. Ouch.

I look around for my duck. It has landed in the middle of a large unsupported section of insulation batts. I'm tempted to leave it there. But that wouldn't be right. It's been with me all the way. I can't abandon it now.

I reach toward it but it's too far away. I'm going to have to crawl out there. I know you're not supposed to climb on the unsupported parts of the roof, but I think it will be ok. I'm not that heavy. And it's not as if I have any clothes on to weigh me down.

I climb carefully onto the batts and start moving slowly to the center. One more meter, and I'm there.

I pick up my duck and bring it up to my face. "Just you and me," I say.

The duck creaks. That's weird. I didn't know rubber ducks could talk.

Uh-oh. The creaking is not coming from the duck. It's coming from underneath me. The ceiling is giving way.

I try to grab the roof beam, but I can't reach it.

The ceiling caves in.

Next thing I know, I'm laying, legs spread, in the middle of the dining room table, my fall broken by insulation batt.

As the dust from the ceiling plaster settles, I can see Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Mom and Dad staring down at me.

Alice is standing next to Dad, her bath towel draped over her shoulder. Her back is turned toward me, and she's so busy complaining to Dad that she doesn't seem to notice what has happened.

"…I've asked him a million times but he just won't get out…" she's saying.

"Oh, dear." Says Mom.

"Oh, my." Says Mrs. Hale.

For once in his life Mr. Hale is speechless.

"Oh, no," says Dad, shaking his head at me. "No, no, no."

"Oh, yes." Alice says, "And I'll tell you what else…"

Dad nods in my direction.

Alice stops, turns around, and stares.

I cover myself with the rubber duck, swing my legs over the edge of the table, and stand up.

"I beg your pardon," I say. "I was looking for the kitchen."

Nobody says anything. They are all just staring at me, their faces and clothes white from the plaster dust.

I head toward the door as fast as I can.

As I'm about to exit I turn towards Alice. She is still standing there, eyes wide.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I say. "Shower's free!"

_There, that's the end of that. Hope everyone liked it! Please review!_


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